


Lend A Helping Hand

by jakjaw



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Emotions, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Mystery, Some bonding, Suicide, and character development
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-30
Updated: 2019-05-01
Packaged: 2020-02-10 02:07:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18650731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jakjaw/pseuds/jakjaw
Summary: All ten victims were found in a comatose state. Their LED’s were still swirling with blues and amber, and only in two victims, red. There was no sign of a struggle in any of the locations.The androids had been assumed to be on some sort of standby, before hired experts confirmed this was something they’d never seen before.





	1. Chapter 1

‘It’s the tenth android this _month_!’ Jeffrey snaps, his fist slamming down onto his desk.

Hank replies, somewhat calmly (even though Connor notices the twitch under his eye and the clenching of his fist), ‘We’re working on it, I know, it’s complete and utter _shit_ but—‘

‘You need to pick up the pace, okay? You need to. Stop getting distracted with Reed, stop getting caught up in other investigations. This is your one and _only_ task now. Got it?’

Distracted with Reed was a weird way of putting it, Connor thinks. Last week he’d got caught in a heated discussion with him. Normally, he could be calm and collected. That day was a tough one, and Hank ended up stepping in only to also start arguing with the stubborn man. 

‘Yes, Jeffrey.’ Hanks teeth are gritted.

‘I’ll talk to Reed. Now get out. Back to work.’ 

Hank doesn’t respond, just stalks out like a cat refused shelter. It could have gone worse. There was a 76% chance of any conversation between Jeffrey and Hank to dip into frustration whilst discussing work issues. Connor dips his head to Jeffrey, who returns the gesture, before trotting to catch up to Hank. 

He’s hunched over his desk, it reminds him of a year ago, the deviant hunt. When they’d first been issued as partners. 

He holds his face in his hands as he hears Connor approach.

‘Are you alright Lieutenant?’

‘Just fine,’ He grunts, and Connor perches on the edge of his desk.

‘We don’t have much to go off.’ 

‘No, we have nothing, and it’s been two weeks.’ 

‘A week and four days.’

‘Basically two weeks.’

Connor ignores that, ‘Let’s review the facts, shall we?’

‘By all means.’

‘Start from the top?’

Hank nods. 

Somewhere inside him, a feeling that Hank once told him sounds like a ‘twist of the gut’ or sometimes, even, ‘butterflies’ started. 

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

_Connor and Hank are located in a park just ten minutes away from Hanks home. Sumo trots around the bench they’re resting on, sniffing and slobbering all over whilst Hank leans back and Connor flips his coin over his knuckles._

_As he does so, he finds himself staring at a young woman who reminds him of someone he used to know, someone he’d been told to shoot in exchange for information._

_‘Butterflies, Con?’ Hank had said, noticing the staring._

_Connor had been embarrassed when he’d looked around for said butterflies, only for Hank to laugh (not unkindly), and explain the sensation deep in your stomach. A feeling of ‘fluttering’ and nervousness._

_Connor was still learning to be free, a year on._

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

 

Androids had been turning up for the last thirty days in a ‘dreamlike’ state. 

They had visited seven different locations, seen seven different cases of it. (The first three were under someone else’s control, when nobody realised this was more than met the eye, before Hank and Connor had been assigned the case). 

Though, the circumstances were all the same in each one. 

The facts they knew were as such; 

All ten victims were found in a comatose state. Their LED’s were still swirling with blues and amber, and only in two victims, red. Three victims didn’t have LED’s. There was no sign of a struggle in any of the locations. The androids had been assumed to be on some sort of standby, before hired experts confirmed this was something they’d never seen before. 

Ten victims had their eyes closed, their bodies limp like that of a human sleeping, and the latest one, a sticky note attached to his chest that read **‘I'm sorry.’**

Naturally, Connor had spent days trying to analyse and link and match the handwriting, to no success. 

That was the only lead. No fingerprints, no thirium, no blood. 

None of the victims showed any sign of awakening. 

Many androids had shown up to demand answers, fearful that someone was targeting and endangering androids, even if it didn't mean _death_. The added factor of the unknown heightened panic within the community.

It made Connor feel flustered and stressed and overwhelmed. Emotions he’d only had for a year, out of the blue. Something he didn’t think he ever _would_ get used to. 

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

_‘Hey, kid,’ Hank says._

_‘Yes, Lieutenant?’_

_‘If you ever need anything, you know you can tell me right? No matter how big or small.’_

_‘I know.’ Connor says, smiling at him, because he knows Hank always smiles back. He flips his coin up and snatches it._

_And Hank does smile back._

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

They take files and reports and any other information they have back to Hanks house to further study it. 

Sumo’s curled up on Connors lap. His hands are entwined in Sumo’s fur, leaning awkwardly just to rest his face on top of the dogs head. 

Whilst doing so, he goes through a significant amount of data, but not nearly enough to progress with the investigation. Hank and Connor don’t say it out loud, but it’s obvious they’ll have to wait for something else to happen, before they can contain anymore information and maybe, hopefully, figure everything out. 

An hour after entering the house, Hank’s heading to the fridge and plucking out a beer. He cracks it open and slumps next to Connor on the couch. 

‘Lieutenant?’ Connor says, voice muffled in Sumo’s fur. 

‘That’s me. Y’know you can call me Hank, right?’

‘Butterflies aren’t always good, are they?’

‘Butterflies? What the fuck are you talkin’ about?’

Connors head lifts up at once, ‘Gut butterflies. The fluttery feeling.’

Hank looks confused, until he must remember their conversation from early Spring, because his features relax. ‘Oh. No, no. They’re not always good.’ 

‘It’s strange.’ Connor continues. ‘It’s almost like I’ve stimulated the exact sensation a human would have -- but, I’m not sure if that’s possible.’

‘’Course it is. You’re alive, Connor. You’re going to feel things. Emotions and all that junk.’ He takes a swig of his beer, and Connor thinks about the nauseous feeling that’s growing inside of him.

‘This case gives me butterflies.’ He declares grimly.

‘You feel nervous?’

Connor nods. ‘I think- Butterflies are quite nice. Quite fluttery, but - in a warm way. I don’t feel like that right now. This case- something's different about it. The person doing this is either efficient with androids enough they surpass even advanced android experts, or they’ve managed to create a reaction like this through purely chance-- and both seem…’

‘Unlikely.’

Connor nods. ‘Almost impossible.’ 

‘What about the note?’ Hank says.

‘A lot of androids have proved they aren’t restricted to Cyberlife sans. It could be human or android. There’s no matches from what I can find.’

Hank’s heard that information before, but he lets out a groan once more.

They stay up till midnight, until Hank declares he needs his beauty rest and retires to his bedroom. He also says Connor has to spend the night, he doesn’t want him travelling alone through the streets at this time a night. 

Connor takes one look at Sumo and immediately agrees. 

Hanks phone blares at approximately 8:32am the next morning, a frenzied Jeffrey on the other end.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for suicide references ! 
> 
> stay safe !

The crime scene is nothing like Connor has seen before. 

Blue blood covers the walls and the floor and the ceiling. Three victims. Two in the comatose state, and one dead, clutching at his own throat. His body a _wreck._

A year ago, Connors cold gaze would have flickered over the scene blankly. Wouldn’t of even hesitated. 

This Connor, _the real Connor,_ had to be caught by Hank when his legs buckled. He felt a jab of embarrassment at the reaction, which only increases when Hank shoots him a worried look. 

‘I’m okay,’ He says, eyes still on the corpse. The leg was torn into. The skin hadn’t had a chance to heal, it peeled off the androids form like dead leaves from a branch.

‘You don’t look okay,’ Hank says gruffly, even though Connors skin can’t pale like a humans.

‘I’m okay.’ Connor starts forward. There was evidence all over, and Connor wasn’t going to let nerves stop him from solving this. 

He starts from the front door, searches for anything that could piece together what had happened whilst Hank gets updated from the first officer on the scene.

Connor finds his head reeling with possibilities. Were the androids somehow doing this to themselves? Six of the victims had jobs, friends, some even family. All of them oblivious to what had happened. Had no idea how or why or who did this. 

Could it be a virus? Something wrong in the code that, although was buried deep and overwhelmed with real emotions, real _personality,_ could still somehow become corrupted? 

Connor suspected, by the torn hands and the gripping of the neck, the dead android had ripped itself apart. He shakes his head, as if it’ll clear his lightheadedness. 

‘Got anything?’ Hank asks Connor, watching him ducked down and inspecting the corpse. 

His voice makes him flinch, a little, and he pauses, ‘I suspect it’s self inflicted damage.’

‘Jesus.’ Hank murmurs, his face a shade paler than usual, like when he stands up too fast after several beers.

‘His death occurred after the others went into the comatose state,’ Connor adds. He’s reconstructing the scene, how the splatters of thirium moved over the idle androids, and had shown no sign of disturbance. 

‘I don’t understand, Hank.’ He admits and Hank gives his shoulder a pat. 

He looks ready to respond, when there’s a loud bang outside. Connors head snaps up immediately, trying to pinpoint the source, a potential lead. It came from the garden. 

They share eye contact, briefly, then— 

‘Hey- Connor!’ Hanks spluttering, but he’s already standing and avoiding evidence as he sprints his way towards the disturbance. 

He pushes the door open in time to see Gavin Reed get shoved into a pile of trash, and androids hands outstretched and wide eyed. They flicker to Connor, a piercing blue, then he turns and runs. 

Gavins okay. It was only a push, he’s already clambering to his feet.

So Connor runs, too. 

He calls a pointless, ‘Stop!’ which faintly overlaps Hank distant call. The same call, but aimed at him. Neither listen. They both have unlimited stamina, the same pace, the same agility. The outcome of success was fifty. The suspect has already jumped six garden fences, their panic making them clumsy as they do so . 

They turn down someone’s drive, onto the street which is teeming with life and cars and doesn’t falter. 

They turn straight into the road, and Connor remembers, dizzily, Kara sprinting over the main road clutching her girls hand. He can’t lose them . He can’t. This is the most they’ve had on a crime scene yet, and he’s not going to let it escape. So, with little to no hesitation, he runs out onto the road after them. 

Somehow, amazingly, they make it with only a couple tire screeches. Connor reflects on how his legs don’t ache, how his lungs don’t feel ready to burst. He could do this all day, and he dives on the suspect the minute he’s close. 

They both go tumbling down an alleyway. They scuffle, for a brief couple of seconds before the suspect aims a boot to Connors face. 

He flails back, but there’s no way to escape. They lashed out because of fear, not aggression. 

Connor lifts his hands, realising that, ‘I don’t want to hurt you.’ 

He finally gets a good look at the suspect. AC700. Short, sandy hair that looked ruffled by the wind and unkept. It framed her slender face, her olive eyes wide with fear. Her voice shook as she snapped, ‘Then stop chasing me.’

‘I’m afraid I can’t.’ Connor says softly, ‘I can’t let a suspect just go free.’

‘I haven’t done anything!’ She all but shrieks.

‘Then come with me, come with me and clear this all up, we can get you help—‘ 

‘I don’t _need_ help!’ She snaps, but then she lets out a choked sound, her gaze softens. ‘Please.’

Connor chews his bottom lip gently, ‘I can see you’re panicked, I promise you.’ He pauses, ‘I promise, I can help you, you just have to help us first.’ 

She’s silent. The skin on her hand peels back to reveal that bone white, and she outstretched her hand. 

‘I don’t-‘ Connor starts. 

‘Just look,’ She says, adds a, ‘See. Please.’ 

His eyes widen in surprise, but he outstretches his hand slowly and she grips onto him. 

_And it hurts_ , his reflexes tell him to jerk back, move out of the way and run and leave her be. Her eyes roll back, then snap shut as her body goes limp. She tumbles into Connor, who automatically lifts his hands to catch her, keep her up. 

He doesn’t even notice when she leans for his gun. 

He does notice Hank yelling his name, just around the corner.

He does notice the taste of his own blood in his mouth. 

He does hear the numb blast of the gunshot that rings through the alleyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapters gonna be a lot longer, the lengths of each will vary so much AH. Thanks for sticking by if you’ve made it this far.


End file.
